Shawn Christopher Hayes

MISSOULA ~ Shawn Christopher Hayes was the first-born son of Steve and Sandy Hayes, beginning his life journey on October 12, 1969 in Niagara Falls, New York. He was soon joined by his brothers Jay (Julie) and Clint (Kim). Shawn absolutely loved being a big brother, and the three boys shared a close bond, playing sports and having adventures in and around North Towanda, New York. He was also very close to his cousins, Vicki and Scott. When he wasn’t playing sports, making music, having adventures, or helping his grandparents (he loved both the Hayes and Hill grandparents), Shawn loved nothing more than to draw. He spent hours creating his own comic books, and many of his pictures hung in the local comic bookstore. By high school, he was doing frequent commission work, drawing artwork onto jeans and denim jackets. Decades later, those customers would still tell him how much they cherished the pieces he did for them.

Shawn was fiercely loyal, and the friends he made in school, skating, playing pick-up games of football and basketball, in scouts, in jazz bands and in the Lutheran Church remained his friends for life, no matter where life’s road took him.

Intelligent, creative, and wildly curious about places unseen, Shawn left town with the carnival and spent many years traveling with them, town to town, state to state, staying a number of off seasons in Gibton, Florida, the town created for and by carnies and circus families, where elephants, Ferris wheels, fire eaters and trapeze artists were the norm.

Shawn continued to criss cross the country, not only with the carnival, but at various times with magazine crews. His quick wit, warmth and charm made him the top salesman in the country and earned him an all-expenses paid two week trip to Hawaii. It was doing this job that he found himself talking with (and selling fat subscriptions to) any number of celebrities, including his favorites, Johnny Cash, Kid Rock and Reba MacIntyre. Reba was so charmed by him, she invited him – and by extension, all his team – to a music and laughter packed family BBQ.

Given Shawn’s independence and love of music, it only made sense he follow the Grateful Dead for six months. It was, he always said, a great time, some of which he even remembered. His free spirit, innate curiosity, and his love of life on the road also lead him to travel with the Rainbow People for the better part of a year, setting up camps, protecting the environment, and living in balance and harmony with others. He left them to hitch hike across Mexico, exploring yet more territory and having a slew of adventures. These adventures were heightened by the fact that he spoke absolutely no Spanish.

For a few years, he settled in Florida, selling trailers, seal coating asphalt, riding motorcycles, and of course, having adventures and making more friends. After that, it was back to New York, running Sub Masters. In addition to all his other skills and talents, the man was an amazing and creative cook. On the days he was cooking, word always spread and soon the line went out the door. Even years later, in a part of the country famous for pizza and wings, people would say he made the best.

In 2015, Shawn was diagnosed with End Stage Renal failure as the result of undiagnosed high blood pressure. He immediately became an in-center dialysis patient. This could have been the end. For many people it is. But Shawn? He was a fighter, a warrior. After beating pretty poor initial odds and a couple lengthy hospital stays, he realized he couldn’t will power his way out of kidney failure, out of needing to be hooked to a dialysis machine three days a week. He hated it. It was steadfast compassion and kindness of the dialysis nurses that convinced him there was still value to his life. He looked for new ways to find meaning. New ways to explore. He volunteered at a food bank and took a part-time position in a small museum focused on the history of Niagara Falls, New York. He loved history and loved his hometown. He joined the Historical Society and became certified to give historical tours of the area.

It was at this time, on a hot July night, he responded to a meme on Facebook. Then she replied. Then he replied to her and she replied again and before they knew it, they had talked all night and into the morning. Her name was Andrea. She lived in western Montana, and somehow, they both just KNEW. Four days later, they started talking on the phone. She liked his voice. He liked her giggle. She worked 16 hour days. She’d set her alarm to call him at 5a.m. her time, talk to him through dialysis, then head to work, smiling. Six weeks later she caught the train in Whitefish, Montana, rode sitting up three nights and two days. He met her at the Buffalo train station. She was going to stay two weeks. She stayed three years. She loved his parents, his brothers, his aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews. His friends became her friends. Most of all she loved him and he loved her right back.

They bought a beat-up utility van. They got a kitten, named him after the museum. Traded the van for a Subaru. Every day, Shawn took her to work, then back to pick her up. She’d scramble in beside him, both of them finding their peace in being together again. They faced his health battle side by side. If he had a hospital stay, she slept by his bed, never leaving him. He lost his mother and six months later, his father. He and Andrea decided to go to Montana to be near her mother. They packed up the Subaru, made a comfortable spot for the cat (close to Shawn, whom of course he loved above all others), and on a bright May morning the three headed west.

Life in Montana was good. A little house, a yard, Lilacs. Her friends became his friends. The replaced the Subaru with a ’97 Chevy Silverado. A second cat joined the family. Shawn and Andrea grew closer still. He developed a loving relationship with his mother-in-law, Jeanne “Mamacat” Dixon, until she passed in 2022. He used to say she was his second mother. He had a great dialysis team, survived a slew of surgeries, a heart attack, another heart attack, COVID, multiple organ failure and a lengthy stay in the ICU. He became especially close to Andrea’s long time friends, Nate and Joy Brown and their children, did a little fishing, had friends over for cookouts, discovered Loose Caboose coffee, and talked frequently to friends and family back in New York. He and Andrea took long drives through the mountains and back country roads, laughing, singing, talking, planning, remembering, hoping and dreaming. This was their happy place. At home, they cheered for the Buffalo Bills and for the Griz, had a back yard wedding (though they’d considered themselves married from that early morning in the Buffalo train station). Some days they argued over how thick the oatmeal should be. She made jewelry and cards, baked scones and biscotti, became a nursing home CAN. She made sure he got his pills. He made sure she knew when her shows were on, held her hand when she got anxious, brought her flowers and Squishmallows. Every night he drove her to work praying with her for the night to be a good one. Every morning he’d be there again, waiting to take her home. They both knew he was getting sicker and weaker. He was tired. He’d been doing this 10 years , longer, …more than double the years most dialysis patients are lucky to survive.

“Don’t leave me”, she’d whisper, scared. “You’re my world. I love you.” “I’m not going anywhere”, he’d tell her, meaning it. “You’re my everything. I love you.”

He’d tell friends, nurses, doctors…”I’m tired, God, so tired. But, I won’t give up, not ever. I live for her. I don’t want her alone, don’t want her to grieve.

On September 7, 2025 his BP stayed high. Scary high. His pulse stayed low, too low. Scary low. His chest hurt. They piled into the truck. He asked her to drive. That’s when she knew it was bad. Scary bad. In the ER room, they watched the Bill win and cheered. She sat near his bed, looked up recipes and cat videos. He played a phone game, sent her a song about how much he loved her. It was buried in all the messages he was sending her from right beside her. She wouldn’t see it for days.

They talked about laundry and rent. They said they weren’t worried. They said “I love you”. They said it a lot. His pulse stayed low. Scary low. They admitted him to the ICU. She stayed until midnight when they made her leave.

“I love you” he messaged her at 6:30a.m. “I love you. Please come now”. I’m already here, in the hall, walking towards you”. His pulse had dropped to 20. They brought it up, but it dropped again. “Pacemaker” the doctor said. “it’ll be quick, easy, problem solved”.

They took him in the evening. Everything went great. Surgeon called the room where she waited, too scared to breathe. “Went great, pulse is great, everything’s great. We’re sending him up to you”. She laughed and danced and spun for joy.

Only it stopped being great, if it ever was great at all. Thirty minutes later he was rushed back in to surgery. She held his hand until they raced him out. She stayed in the empty room. The Chaplain came, young and kind. A nurse came. “They are giving him CPR. It doesn’t look good”. The Chaplain prayed the Lord’s Prayer quietly. A moment of comfort, but not enough.

The doctor came in, his face composed and sad. Andrea looked away hard. “Did you lose him?” Her voice was thick. “We did. We lost him”.

Shawn Christopher Hayes, October 12, 1969 ~ September 8, 2025. Love of my life. My soulmate. My reason. My world. My everything. God was thinking of me when he made Shawn and thinking of Shawn when he made me.

Shawn Christopher Hayes, warrior, wanderer, worker. My world. My reason. My life. Still, always. He had a brilliant sense of humor. His laugh was a gift. He loved his family and his friends. He loved art, music, history, adventures, motorcycles, exploring, the Bills, his truck, his cat, his coffee, his weed and me. He’s free now, no more pain, no more tubes and needles, no more being tethered day after day after endless stupid day to dinging, ringing, buzzing, beeping, whirring machines. No more exhaustion and muscle cramps, no more insomnia, nausea, level 10 headaches, chest pain and pills and powders and pills, pills, pills again. And for those of us left behind…the friends, the brothers, the sisters-in-law, aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews, nieces and their families…grief and void and love and walking this rubble strewn bombed out road, barefoot and broken until we are together again.

It is the slow sand-filling of moon in an empty sky – the faint line of God’s hand tracing wings on a cold horizon.

Andrea Hayes October 12, 2025